Hummingbirds and summertime

I savored another breakfast on the deck with the Duo and the Runner. The Broad-tailed hummingbirds zipped and zoomed over our heads. A female...

And a male...

Our hummingbirds arrived about two weeks late this spring, probably because our flowering plants have also lagged behind their normal schedule. However, as the hummingbirds are becoming numerous with the humming sound of their wings as a constant song in the background, one of their favorite flowers is blossoming - the red currant (Ribes cereum). Hummingbirds love to drink nectar from these flowers.

Despite K's health travails, we still took a short mountain bike ride this morning. In the warm summer sun, she galloped over the top of Hug Hill, full of joy. I love mountain biking with K. For some reason, sharing my rides with her is one of my favorite things on Earth.

I talked with my vet about agility and whether K should do it despite her toe amputation. The vet's answer was that it would be risky - because agility requires jumping and sudden direction changes that stress the paw. Her advice was not to do agility if I wanted to keep K capable of running with me when I mountain bike. I'm okay with that. We'll figure out new games to play together.

After my short ride with K, I almost always head out for a ride solo, rejoicing in springtime. Today, a pair of velvet-antlered bucks watched me pedal by them. Velvet antlers are such a sign of spring-summer!

I love riding hard, pushing myself to my limits, and I reserve that kind of mountain biking for when K isn't with me. However, I still stop sometimes to look at flowers or other wonders of nature. I found the flowers in the next photo below a cliff in a basin of shade and moisture. I've never seen them before now, and I can't figure what these subtle beauties are! Does anyone know?

I finished the day with a mellow sunset hike with the Duo yesterday evening. R is allowed to hike on easy trails but has to stay on leash due to his toenail surgery, much to his displeasure. Just as the sun dropped below the Continental Divide, it bathed the forest in a warm light.

The Duo sat with me, enjoying the magic moment as the forest was transformed.

Then, we watched the sunset show. It's much better than any movie that I've ever seen.

No more news on Socks... To answer one question, both male and female bears mark trees so tree-marking doesn't give us a hint as to Socks' gender. I agree with all of you - it's tough watching any young adult try to find their way in the world. I've read that many yearling cubs go up in trees after their mothers leave them and don't come down for days. At least Socks is moving around a bit. I predict that this yearling cub will find his/her way in this big goofy world. The hard part is that we'll see only glimpses of Socks' life, when this bear happens to walk in front of one of my cameras. I wish that we could know more.

Smooth sailing

Everyone seems to have returned to normal after our weekend of veterinary events. R bounced back from his anaesthesia in the blink of an eye. K spent all day yesterday sleeping and snoring. By evening, she enthusiastically headed out for a hike, acting perky and excited about the scents.
She sat among the wildflowers in the setting sun's radiant light. R was much too busy zooming among rodent holes to sit for a photo!
Overnight, R practiced a new talent that he's refining. He has yipping conversations with the coyotes who visit our clearing in the dead of night. He's learned to sound just like a coyote, and I'd laugh about it if it weren't usually at 3 AM!

This morning, R went for a run up in the alpine zone with the Runner in our family. I decided that K needed a "normal" day so we headed out on our trails behind our house. I could tell from her first bouncy steps that she felt like a new dog!
You can see the dark clouds enveloping the Continental Divide behind K despite the early morning hour (it's usually clear in the morning). We dodged raindrops and enjoyed the cool air with K romping ahead of me through flowers that seemed to glow in the dark ambiance.
Gumweed flowers were one of the brilliant gems lighting up the meadow.
After a break at home waiting for the storms to pass, I headed out on my own, covering some known territory and some new ground. I kept waiting for parts to start flying off my bike and to tumble to a stop. You see, I replaced a bunch of worn out bike components yesterday, and I'm NOT a good mechanic. Thankfully, my bike held together and even seemed to glide along smoothly, except for the rubbing disc brake pads which I stopped to fix. In celebration of my well-functioning bike, the mountains briefly looked peaceful before a new round of storms invaded them.
As I pedaled along a new trail, pink fireweed blossomed gorgeously against a rock cliff and blue sky. Fireweed is a late summer flower... so it was bittersweet to see it, knowing that our short mountain summer is speeding by.
Another sign of summer's rapid pace is that the Rufous Hummingbirds have arrived. I know that they've arrived when I hear the distinctive metallic whir of the males' wingbeats that is very different from the high pitched trill of our male Broadtailed Hummingbirds. Here's a Rufous in a photo not taken by me.
These amazing birds migrate up the west coast from central America in the spring, breed in Alaska, and then return south by following inland mountain ranges in the "late summer" (i.e., now). Thus, by this point in the summer, these rust colored missiles have already flown to and fro Alaska. They're aggressive defenders of food sources so the ones stopping to rest here during their migration drive all of our breeding population of Broad-tailed Hummingbirds away from our feeders. Fortunately, the wildflowers are in full cry so the vanquished hummingbirds can sip nectar from natural sources.
So, we're getting multiple signs of the waning of summer. I'm holding out hope that it's not quite over!

A day of firsts

As I drove home from physical therapy late yesterday evening, I pulled off the road to watch the sunset. I sat and thought about how lucky I am. My rehab will continue for several months but I don't mind because it's setting me free to do the things that I love.
This morning, as I had breakfast, K mournfully watched the runners in our family depart without her. For the past month, she's been joining them to get in shape for THE day when our trails and I would become ready for us girls to mountain bike together.
Little did K know - but today was the big day! She led us up our first little hill like a puppy.
We easily fell into our riding partnership, with her floating next to me, watching and frolicking as I pedaled. When a snowbank appeared ahead of us, she sprinted and dove into it. Then, she wiggled and wriggled on her back. Of course, her extrasensory perception told her that I was pulling out the camera and she jumped to her feet to look somewhat dignified, although she was still a little unsteady as you can see in the photo.
I pretended to put the camera away hoping to photograph the playful wriggling, and K ecstatically dove into the snow again. But, she has a keen eye for the camera and wouldn't let me catch her being so undignified!

We climbed up to a small hillock and K examined my bike while I paused for the view. I imagined her trying to figure out why the pattern of riding had been broken for so long and why it had suddenly returned.
As we soaked up the sun, a trilling sound zoomed toward us, rising in pitch as it approached. It passed overhead and then the trilling trailed off into the distance. It was a moment for rejoicing because our first male Broad-tailed Hummingbird had just zipped through our airspace. He was right on time compared to past years, despite the thousands of miles that he probably flew to get here. Those power-packed tiny gems never cease to amaze me!

Shortly later, we entered the sun dappled pine forest. K trilled with hummingbird-like energy. She flew toward me on a recall.
And, barely dodged the pine tree, ears flopping high in the air.
She was greeted with a huge hug. Riding my mountain bike with K ranks as one of my absolute favorite things in life.

Before heading home, we made one more stop at a mountain view. I discovered that, during our surgery-induced break from biking, K had become afraid of my bike when it loomed over her. She shied away from it while we rested. So, we played some "check out the bike" and "touch the bike" games. Eventually, she sat next to it for a photo. What an odd fear for K to have developed, especially since we've ridden together since her first birthday!
Just like the old days before my surgery, I dropped K at home (and quickly put out a hummingbird feeder), before heading out for a little more riding. The weather was the warmest of the year, with the air close to 60 deg F so I ventured out in shorts for the first time! However, as I rode to the east, I saw clouds oozing inexorably toward our higher elevation world.
And, when I looked to the west, thunderclouds had blossomed in the blink of an eye. I haven't seen cumulus clouds since last fall. This was, indeed, a day of firsts.
As I rode along the spine of a ridge, a neon pink and yellow object caught my eye on the south facing slope, so bright that I initially didn't recognize it. A ball cactus had bloomed, just in time for hummingbirds, assuming they're very careful as they extract the nectar.
These effervescent flowers are almost shocking in their brightness compared the the brown grass surrounding them. The cheery yellow stamens release pollen dust that coats the delicate petals near their bases.
One blossom had barely opened. The contrast between flower's delicacy and the prickly armor of the cactus always strikes me.
As I rode home, I attempted to take a trail down the north side of the same ridge harboring blooming cacti, and snowbanks topped with ice stopped me. In our mountainous world, spring and winter live literally side-by-side.

The clouds from the east caught me from behind before I arrived home, and the temperature plummeted by 15 degrees. Although I stood in the chilly shade, the mountains to my west still shined in the sun.
Luckily, I was wearing mittens despite the early morning warmth, and I was happy to have them as I rapidly chilled. Indeed, some friends had teased me earlier in the ride about the odd combination of shorts and mittens! However, I have severe Raynaud's syndrome so keeping my fingers warm is paramount to me. Without those mittens, my fingertips would have been sickly white with cold.

Tonight, I'm going to see a Mark Knopfler concert. As I rode, I thought about all that has happened since I purchased our concert tickets back in October. At that time, I had only a tiny inkling that my next spinal surgery had become urgent. So, I didn't expect that a difficult journey sat between me and the concert. Tonight will be a wonderful celebration as I listen to the guitarist who's been my favorite musician since I was a teenager. It feels as if his music has shepherded me through the peaks and valleys of life.

Colorado's Smoky Mountains

A weight finally lifted from my spirits today. Since I became aware of how rapidly and dangerously my spine is degenerating, each autumn brings worries about how many summers of roaming the forests and mountains I'll have. The future scares me - because exploring the forest and immersing myself in nature is what makes me feel truly alive.

This year's melancholy was triggered by a tingling and numb patch on my calf undoubtedly caused by pressure on a nerve exiting or entering my spinal cord. In a case of bad timing, the odd sensation became too strong to ignore at about the same time as signs of autumn became undeniable. This confluence dragged my spirits downward. The patch of skin is no better yet but history says that it'll probably eventually return to normal. Despite the lack of improvement, the feeling that I'm peering into a dark abyss that represents my future has disappeared.

Because sunrise has crept ever later, the sun rose this morning as I drank my morning coffee on the deck. When I first arrived outside, the sun still hovered below the trees.
But, it rose above them with a glimmer of brilliance and warmth as I watched.
The Broad-tailed hummingbirds who are still visiting our feeder wait for the sun and then they leave their sleeping perches for breakfast. I suspect that these hummers are on rest stop-overs during their southward migration. The last stragglers will probably trickle through our rest stop within a couple of weeks.
Today, K and I rolled through the forest, and it felt like a peaceful oasis. K romped with vigor, occasionally enthusiastically forging ahead of me but mostly staying by my side. I think that she's feeling better every day. Yesterday evening, she even play-fought with R. Sorry for the photo's blurriness - I'm starting to believe that R's high energy aura causes the air molecules to vibrate around him which, of course, messes up my photos.
This morning, I smelled smoke as soon as I rolled out the door, and the mountains looked veiled, almost like dusk was falling. I could barely see the Divide from our favorite little peak.
For a brief time, the mountains glowed almost pink but then returned to gray.
I've read that the smoke is from numerous wildfires in the western U.S., including Colorado, Utah, and California. The forested hills to the southeast looked like photos that I've seen of the Smoky Mountains.
After a relaxing sojourn with K, simply enjoying the silence of the forest while I pedaled and she ran on soft trails, I headed out for a solo ride. I seemed attuned to nature and noticed little details. The goldenrod plant that was speckled with red and black beetles last week still roils with activity. I suspect that the swarm of beetles on it is emitting a plume of pheromones that is calling other beetles to the plant.
I believe that these are Goldenrod Soldier Beetles (Chauliognathus pensylvanicus) who fly in late summer and early autumn. The adults eat mainly nectar and love goldenrod plants. Since spotting this goldenrod that is like a singles bar for soldier beetles, I've been scanning other goldenrod plants for beetles but have seen none.

As I rolled past a trail intersection, towering yellow flowers swayed in the breeze and the blue sky behind them glowed with promise.Finally, as I neared home, I silently flowed through the meadow behind my house. Beneath the tall grass, I spotted understated purple gems, Bottle Gentians (Pneumonanthe bigelovii). These clusters of tiny flowers (closed buds are the width of my pinky) are always the last, the absolute last, wildflower to bloom before winter in our meadow. Like all gentians, the blossoms open and close in rapid response to sunlight and shade. In the cluster below, only one flower was open.
On another plant, several flowers gaped wide open to soak up the sun. The open flowers look like miniatures of the Mountain Gentians that I saw on our recent trip to the San Juan Mountains.
I rolled home, happy and not too tired. Autumn is here, and I think that I'm ready.

Thyroid storms and stormy days on vacation

Before I launch into tales of my vacation adventures, I thought that I'd give you a picture of the extreme behavioral effects of thyroid imbalances. Yesterday afternoon, K and I started an agility run - we usually spend about 10 minutes a day 'playing' agility on our homemade course. She usually gets so excited to play that she shakes.

Yesterday was different. She didn't sprint out of the blocks. She did the first few obstacles and then slowed down like a wind-up toy who was running out of oomph. Her body language screamed terror - pure fear seemed to course through her veins. She dug in her heels about the 'pause table', a table on which she usually does a brief down during a run. It's the least scary obstacle on the course. For K, the 'pause table' seemed to be the last straw, and she refused to try any more of her beloved agility course.

I've seen almost exactly this sequence of events in the past when her thyroid has gone askew. Previously, I've made the mistake of trying to counteract her fear with treats and other techniques. My attempts have never worked so we simply walked away yesterday. To try to prevent her from dwelling on her fear, we did a few non-agility tricks on our way inside.

Then, after darkness fell, K kept getting 'stuck' in various rooms because she was afraid of the doorways and hallways. She'd move through them if a human accompanied her but not by herself. I talked with K's vet today, and we're immediately changing her thyroid meds even though the blood work won't be back until next week. We might call in a specialist if things don't even out soon.

The point in this story is that if your dog suddenly becomes fearful, always consider that the cause might be medical. And, a lot of vets don't know about the behavior-thyroid link so be sure to mention it.

Fortunately, K has never been afraid of natural obstacles, like the log blocking the trail today!

Vacation Tales

After our fun and epic days on the Colorado Trail between Carson and Stony Passes, we headed into Silverton, and enjoyed hot showers and pizza! We walked the dogs around the quaint and tourist-oriented town. At some flowers outside a shop, a hummingbird-like form caught my eye but I rapidly realized that it wasn't a bird - it was a Hawkmoth. I don't know the species but if anyone else recognizes it, please tell me!

At a glance, these moths mimic hummingbirds in body shape and flying style. This striped moth zeroed in on a red columbine. First, he stuck his long and lithe tongue out to sample the nectar. If you click on the photo, you enlarge it, making it easier to see the details. Sorry about the blurriness - it was a gloomy evening and the moth moved fast! But, I think that you can see the thread-like red tongue going from the moth's 'beak' to the flower.
After hovering briefly, he moved in closer.
And finally, the flower almost engulfed him as he drank the nectar.
I had to laugh - even as we'd been trying to be 'civilized' in a town for a brief time, we'd ended up engrossed in a wonder of nature. I don't think that cities were made for us or vice versa!

We headed a short way out of town, onto a road that climbed next to Mineral Creek. After the road turned rough, keeping traffic to a minimum, we found a campsite with a view of the creek, mountains, and mist that floated up towards us.
Exhausted, we went straight to sleep. One of things that I love about our van (aka 'The Labmobile' or more officially, a 'Sportsmobile') is how easy it is to set up camp and how comfortable the bed is. On this trip, my back fell in love with our 4WD van. No camping mattress compares.

When we finally awakened the next morning, the clouds were oozing up the valley toward us.
We decided that we all needed to take it easy for the day. In our high-energy world, 'taking it easy' meant that K joined the boys for a short run, and I headed out alone for a short mountain bike ride. I rode up, and I do mean 'up', the Rico-Silverton Trail which eventually would have intersected my favorite trail, The Colorado Trail.

The trail meandered next to creek that cut through what felt like an old growth conifer forest, replete with massive Engleman Spruce, Blue Spruce, and Subalpine Fir trees. We'd read that this area might be home for some reintroduced lynx, and it felt like perfect habitat for the shy cats.

Purple and towering subalpine Larkspur lined the trail, and I heard the buzz of hummingbirds among them.
Without too much effort, I emerged onto an expansive meadow, still vibrating with summer energy despite the damp and chilly day. Talus slopes formed walls for the meadow. Marmots whistled and pikas chirped as I passed by.

Grass, diminutive subalpine flowers, and leafy willows covered the plateau.
And, my favorite flower on Earth, the Colorado Columbine, still bloomed.
I could see my dream destination ahead of me - an exposed ridge and the trail that I knew snaked along its apex. However, the clouds threatened to engulf me and I'd promised to take it easy, so I turned back toward the warmth of camp.

Down close to camp, I noticed brilliant purple-blue flower, flourishing in a moist and sunny spot, that was new to me. Its shape and skunky smell reminded me of a Sky Pilot or Jacob's Ladder, both of which were ubiquitous during our early summer mountain excursions. However, it was much taller, and its flowers subtly differed from its cousins' flowers. It was a "Leafy Jacob's Ladder" (Polemonium foliosissimum), a much taller and more sun-loving species than the "Showy Jacob's Ladder" that I often see in shady and moist mountain areas.
Apparently, the skunk-like smell of this group of flowers deters ants and other "nectar-stealing insects". My books don't say why deterring ants is important but I'd guess that they don't often carry pollen from one plant to another so they're less desirable visitors than flying insects or birds.

Shortly after I finished my ride, the clouds marched directly at us and the rain pelted out of the sky. I was glad that I'd kept my ride short!

For our final San Juan campsite, we drove up to Bolam Pass, another Colorado Trail access point, on yet another 4WD road. This one was mellow compared to the terrifying ride up Wager Gulch to Carson Pass. Just before the Pass, a magical lake, "Celebration Lake", emerged from the mist.
We found a campsite with a spectacular view - although an aerial bombardment of hail was underway when we arrived. We waited out nature's fury, listening to the pounding of hail, in the Labmobile. We talked about the tough 'through-hikers' who we'd seen in recent days, traveling all the way from Denver to Durango on the Colorado Trail. We guessed that they were huddled in tents to survive this onslaught - we felt like wimps by comparison.

When the storm's fury was spent, my husband ventured out, clad in arctic gear, to start dinner. Although the van has a stove, we both prefer being outdoors whenever we can. He's the cook in our family - thank goodness - or we'd be malnourished!
The arctic clothing fit the ambiance - fresh snow dusted a nearby peak!While my husband cooked, I walked and fed the dogs, enjoying our solitude in this glorious spot.And, for the umpteenth time on this vacation, I felt grateful to be in the thin air of our awesome mountains - up so high that I looked down on the clouds.